


Reel Against Your Body’s Borders

by wellthatsood



Category: The Passage (TV)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Human/Vampire Relationship, Mind Sex, Mindfuck, Smut, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthatsood/pseuds/wellthatsood
Summary: Shauna's presence in his head is a mindfuck in more ways than one.





	Reel Against Your Body’s Borders

**Author's Note:**

> on the one hand, I'm sorry for starting the passage tv tag on ao3 with shameless vampire smut. on the other hand, I'm not actually sorry? happy birthday, the passage (tv) tag. you were born with this porn. [also on tumblr](http://goatsandgangsters.tumblr.com/post/182858919474/reel-against-your-bodys-borders-clarkshauna)

He’s awakened by her next to him, fingers dancing across his chest. He blinks in the light—warm, golden, glowing from twin lamps on each end table. That can’t be right. He never leaves the lights on; it’s wasteful. But then, a lot of things haven’t been right lately.

“Alone tonight?”

Like that, for example. Shauna can try to hide behind an innocuous question all she wants; there’s nothing innocuous about what she says to him. 

He rubs a hand across his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “Apparently not,” he retorts, throat dry and heavy. 

She smiles at that, cocks her head and spills strands of hair against his cheek. He tries to hoist himself onto his elbows but she presses him flat against the mattress with one hand against his chest—stronger than any normal human’s. “You might as well make yourself comfortable, because I’ve got a lot of time on my hands.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” he says, flat, curt. “I’ll get cable installed in the whole block first thing tomorrow.” 

Those bright eyes meet his, never deterred no matter his brusqueness. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but that’d be nice, actually.” 

He forces himself to look away, steer the conversation onwards before she can get too hooked on the idea. That’d be a hard expense report to justify. “You want somethin’, or you just like keeping me awake?”

When she smiles again, it’s that dangerous smile. Not as dangerous as it could be—no sharp teeth or anything. But it’s a bright smile, gleaming, and that’s what makes it such trouble. “Oh, I _do_.” 

It’s a good thing he’s had practice keeping his voice indifferent. “You mind tellin’ me what?” 

“Like you have to ask,” she pouts. 

“Just did, didn’t I?” A steady tone is aways the best strategy; it’s seen him through more dire situations than this. 

She tuts at him, a spark in her eyes that says nothing’s ever been so dire. “ _You_ are being a grump tonight.” 

He swallows. “That happens when you get woken up in the middle of the—” 

Her fingers press against his lips and slip inside. His eyes go wide, searching her face, brow knit and heart hammering. “Shh, enough of that,” she coos. “Enough of that, baby, just relax.” She’s smiling, soft and safe, as she pushes her fingers over his tongue, down deeper into his mouth. He relaxes, lets her in. This, he thinks, is new. 

“Don’t get this every day, do you?” she says with a grin, and he wraps his lips around her fingers and sucks. He strains his neck up, more insistent; she laughs, wrist dangling in front of him. “Ooh, but maybe you should. You seem to like it.” 

Her eyes are alight watching him. It thuds in his chest, the way she watches, the hunger. His mouth would work for days to keep those eyes burning into his skin. 

“That’s it, get them nice and ready. You can do that, right?” Of course he can. The what and the why don’t matter, only that he can, that he will. “It’s relaxing, huh? I’ll do all the talking, I don’t mind.” 

He dissolves into those words, into the peaceful promise held in the pads of her fingers. There’s always someone looking to him for something—orders, reassurance, resolve. The weight is invisible until it’s lifted, until he can slip out of himself for one moment’s peace. 

His tongue whorls around the soft curves of her fingers. “It’s nice of you to let me in like this. Up here, I mean.” She presses her nose to the skin of his temple.

Her fingers pull back and out, and he gasps—for air, for more—resurfacing from deep within himself. “What do you—”

“Ah, ah.” She waves one finger in front of him. His eyes follow it, back and forth, before settling on her face, so soft, so warm. “What’d I tell you? You just need to relax and listen, remember?” 

It sounds nice, natural even. There’s a tug deep in his mind, like the heaviness of sleep worming its way through his thoughts and threatening to pull him under a hazy fog. That must be her. Of course it is. Some junior lab technician is charting her brain activity going haywire, without a clue what’s held in those dips and swells. Clark only knows the dance of those arcs by shape, not by scientific detail, but he knows how they feel. They’re becoming as much a part of him as his own pulse. 

And then he gasps, breathless shock twisting his fingers into the blanket. “ _Shauna!_ ” She’s _in_ him with one hand, the other pushing his thigh aside. 

He tries to sit up, tries to pull away, but she swirls her wrist; he shudders. “What? It’s only one finger,” she says with a shrug. “You’re how old, anyway? Haven’t you had like, a prostate exam or something by now?” 

_Christ_ , really. “I’m not that o—” He struggles against a gasp. The second finger that had been in his mouth moments before pushes into him. His body responds—tightening and opening—like he was meant to be played this way. 

She laughs and shakes her golden head. “Hey, enjoy it. I’m doing you a favor. You seem tense.” 

“Wonder why.” His teeth grit tight, eyes squeezed shut. But as he breathes, as she moves her hand in slow, deliberate motions, brushing effortlessly against him, the presence of her surges through his body like a current, from head to—well, other places. 

She curls her fingers and he nearly bucks off the bed. “Sensitive, huh? But we knew that already, didn’t we?” 

There’s a glint in her smile, a hunger in her eyes that jolts in his stomach. He struggles to keep his eyes open, stares down the length of his body—hadn’t he been clothed when he went to sleep?—and knits his brows as he watches her, perched between his legs as calm and collected as if they were having any old conversation. 

She tuts at him when his stare remains blank. “I’m not talking about _here_ ,” she explains with— _jesus_ —another curl of her fingers. “You know where I mean. That little spot in the back of your mind. It wasn’t hard to get in there, open you up.” She says these last words slow and deliberate, with a sly grin and a motion that makes his head fall back and a low moan slide through his throat. There’s a giggle hiding behind her grin. His breath is shallow; her words make him tremble with something that should be fear, but isn’t.

“I’m not even in you, you know,” she continues conversationally, working her fingers in and out. His muscles tighten around her, eager hips rolling into each motion. “I’m not even here.” 

“Feels—like it,” he grunts. Every nerve ending in his body would agree.

“Clark.” He goes still at the sound of his name, despite the motions of her hand and the twists and coils of his body. There’s something else in her voice now, something firm, something _true_. “I’m in your head, Clark. You know that.” 

He does. He does know that. But it feels—oh, it _feels_. His eyes fall closed as his mouth falls open. The mattress creaks at a distance from his consciousness as he pushes back onto her, closer for more and more. She gives it to him as his back slides against the sheets, sweat collecting on his brow. He can still taste her on his tongue as he opens his mouth to breathe, to moan, to let the desperate air out of his rapidly rising and falling chest. 

She’s in him. Deeper than before, pressing farther inside. It’s not just her fingers, it can’t be; he feels too full of her, but he can’t open his eyes, can’t bring himself to raise his heavy head to look. He can only feel her, pushing, pulling, deeper inside. Every thrust shoots through his spine, straight to the top of his head, the world melting away until there’s only her.

The sound of her voice is like an anchor, his own body the waves tossing side to side. He hardly knows what she’s saying, only that he hears her, filling him until there isn’t room for anything else. 

“That’s it, let me open you up. Keep making room for me in your mind, Clark, and I’ll keep making you feel as good as you want,” she promises. 

He shudders, head falling to the side in a desperate moan. Nothing has ever been like this—in him, around him, through him, to every corner of his body. It’s hard to know where he stops and where she begins, hard to remember if he ever knew those lines, if there ever were any. 

“It’s not like I’m asking for anything you don’t want to give. Win-win, right?” She says it so simply. “Makes it nice and easy for you.” 

All he has to do is slip into the sound of her voice, let his body twitch and thrash, let her make music out of his moans and sighs. Lights dance behind his eyes, squeezed tight. She’s a fever that burned through every corner of his body until there was nothing but sensation, pleasure, her words coiled deep in his head and burning hot. 

“Just let me in,” she whispers, and he _wants to_. The push-and-pull is building in his gut, mouth hanging open in a silent moan—letting her give voice to all that’s in his head instead. 

His back arcs as she twists and thrusts, faster and faster, a rhythm so sharp and steady he swears its his heartbeat. Her hair falls against his face, her words against his ear. “It makes you wonder… was I even here?” she asks. “Or do you just _want_ this?” 

He gasps in silent cry—body shudders, rolling through spasms that shake through to his core. His eyes fly open, her name heavy as it falls from parched lips. He blinks into the ink of the shadows, the blood thrumming in his veins, breath struggling to steady. The room is as dark and as empty as when he went to sleep. 


End file.
